Page 8

“That’s what Laney said.” She put one of her hands on the table and opened it wide. “But Cal, I think you have a pretty good idea of what these hands have done. Do you really see me bobbing a curtsy to a bunch of men too stupid to know the odds if they were to tangle with me?”

“Hm. I don’t doubt you’d lay those four low, no problem. But listen. There’s a lot more’n four of ’em out there, and the Madrigal is the sort to make an example.”

“I’ve heard a lot of stories and a lot of legends in my time, and they’re always worse than the real thing. I can take care of myself, here.”

“Maybe so. This place, though?” He rapped the table with a knuckle. “It ain’t fireproof. So, fine, you can take care of yourself, but I figure there’s more you got a stake in. Am I wrong?”

Viv frowned and stared at him, lost for words.

Cal got up, leveled a finger at her, and said, “Wait.”

He rummaged in some of the last remaining supplies and retrieved hammer and nails. Up on his toes at the wall behind the counter, he banged some brackets into the wood—one, two, three.

“At least, do this. Put that sword of yours up there,” he said. “If you’re gonna show ’em you got teeth, at least fix it so you can bite when you need to. Hm?”

* * *

When Viv retired for the night, Blackblood rested on those brackets, a killing slab.

She wished it was still hidden in the corner.

* * *

Viv hadn’t expected Cal, but around noon, he showed up riding in the back of a cart next to a big, black stove and several lengths of stovepipe.

She gave him the side-eye as he leapt down. “What’s all this?”

He shrugged. “Hm. I said you needed a kitchen. And b’fore you say anythin’, it’s already paid for.”

She tossed up her hands, both amused and exasperated. The horses shied nervously. “Where’d you get this? I’m not a baker.”

He gestured at the upper room. “Gets cold here in winter, and no fireplace to speak of. You want to freeze up there in the loft, layin’ on the floor, snow on the roof? Gimme a hand with this.”

Viv held her peace as she hefted the stove out of the bed of the wagon, one end at a time.

Even for her, the heavy iron thing was difficult to maneuver.

She eventually got it down and walked it end-by-end into the storefront by way of the big doors.

Cal carried in the stovepipe, piece by piece, and then paid the impatient driver.

She was surprised to find that she was a little winded. Her back was gnawing at her again, too, as she fell onto one of the benches. “Can’t let you pay for it, Cal.”

“Hm. Too bad. Already paid me too much. Figured if I was gonna waste it on somethin’ foolish, this might as well be it.”

“Heat for winter, huh?”

Cal nodded. “And if the bean water doesn’t work out….”

Viv laughed. “Speaking of that.” She gestured at the counter, where a mortar and pestle sat next to a few kettles, a tumble of cloth, and some fired clay cups.

“Takin’ up apothecary, too?”

“I’ll show you. But let’s get this thing out of the middle of the floor, first.”

At some direction from Cal, she positioned the stove against the west wall, and after some figuring and fussing and cursing, he got the stovepipe affixed.

With a little cutting by brace-drill and saw—and some arch comments from Viv—he fed the pipe out through the flange where it met the wall.

A few hours later, they had the end run up past the eaves and topped with a rain cap.

They made do with some scrap for kindling and started a small blaze in the side box. The smoke drew up and out just fine.

“All right,” said Viv. “Get some water in one of those kettles and put it on.”

Cal raised his eyebrows. “Bean water?”

“You want to test the stove or not?”

He shrugged and went about it, filling the kettle from the water barrel.

Viv dug out a handful of coffee beans from one of the sacks, crushed them in the mortar, and poured the grounds into a tube of linen. She stretched the tube over the mouth of one of the clay cups, and when the kettle whistled, she slowly poured boiling water through, a little at a time.

“Is that a lady’s stockin’?” asked Cal.

Viv glanced at him. “It’s clean. I don’t wear stockings.”

“Just askin’,” he said mildly.

“Hm,” she said. It seemed he was rubbing off on her.

“How exactly were you plannin’ to use that kettle with no stove?” he asked pointedly.

“Mmmm, needed it to fill the machine that’s coming. Just a happy accident.”

Viv completed a last spiraling pour and waited for the swollen grounds to steep. Removing the linen sleeve and swirling the cup, she closed her eyes, brought it to her nose, and inhaled deeply.

She took an experimental taste… and smiled, nodding. “That’s not half bad.”

Cal frowned at her.

“Now,” she said defensively, “this isn’t as good as it’ll be when I can make it right. But.” She handed him the cup.

He made a big show of sniffing at it. He raised his eyebrows and nodded a little. Very slowly and very delicately, he sipped at it. Then he held it in his hand and stood there.

After what Viv considered an overly generous few moments, she couldn’t help herself. “Well?”

“Hm,” said Cal. “I’ll allow… it’s actually not that terrible.”

* * *

Later, they sat at the big table, each with their own cup.

Cal pretended to ignore his, but Viv caught him stealing cautious sips now and then, when he thought she wasn’t looking.

She held her own in both hands contemplatively, absorbing the heat and the scent.

It felt like completing a loop, like the satisfying click of a clasp snapping closed.

“So,” she said. “You can also make these with milk. You might like it.”

“Milk?” Cal made a face.

“Better than it sounds. You’ll have to try it once I have the machine. The gnomes called it a latte .”

“Latte? That mean somethin’?”

“Named after the gnomish barista who invented them, I think—Latte Diameter.”

Cal gave her a longsuffering look. “Can’t explain what one word means with another word nobody knows. What’s a barista?”

“Cal, I didn’t invent the words.”

“Folks gonna need a new education just to buy some bean w–… some coffee.”

“I don’t know. I kind of like it. It’s more exotic that way.”

“Ladies’ stockin’s and exotic bean water. Gods help us.”